Today is shaping up to be one of those days. One of those days in which my caffeine addiction, something I usually revel in, turns on me because I’m a bit overstimulated, underfed, and the nerves are being worked over like the concrete under a jackhammer.
I’ve been a bit snarky all week, so I decided that was going to make a concerted effort to be more patient, and just try to enjoy the day-to-dayness of summer at home (i.e. the mind-numbing monotony of dishes, laundry, refereeing, disciplining, and butt-wiping).
It didn’t bode well for me when both girls were awake and upset at 4:00 (that would be a.m.). I’ve been having trouble sleeping, so I hadn’t even thought about sleep until 3:30. Anyhoo, it is completely unusual for both of them to be awake in the middle of the night like that. We brought them both to our bed (a family first for us), and they laid there peacefully, but awake, for about 40 minutes. Then they started to get antsy and back their beds they both went. And they both cried. For what seemed like for*freaking*ever. I finally pleaded with John to get up with them since he was getting up in less than an hour for work anyway (or so I assumed. It was light outside and the clock said it was 5-something). Because he’s great like that, he did. He put on cartoons, made them cereal and left for work. I woke at 7:45ish, but didn’t get out of bed for nearly an hour. I didn’t hear much movement in the next room, so I assumed at least one of them were asleep. Nope. Both awake since 4 a.m.
Morning was actually shaping up fine, so I decide to invite my mother-in-law, who I adore, over for dinner tonight because she’s leaving for FL in two days and we won’t see her for about a month. It’s time for lunch and that is when Super L absolutely loses it. First of all, she gets 7 kinds of p*ssed because she’s peed all over her Little Mermaid dress. This is the fourth time in two days she has shed her pull up without telling me, and then peed on herself or the furniture. I am not happy. Yes, I realize potty training is in order, and we’re working on it. But I’m soooo not the mommy to sit with my kid every moment of the day and ask her if she has to pee and escort her to the potty every 10-15 minutes. This is the price I pay for letting Laura-The Best Babysitter Ever-potty train my eldest. And she did it in, like, 2 days.
So 10 minutes later lunch is served and Super L is suddenly a different child. She’s happily slirping down her soup, dripping it on her bare belly, and Little Miss G is also on her best behavior. Things are calming down. But I can’t. The ‘ole nerves are a bit raw now, and my ire is directed toward the Charter Cable’s ’80s music selection on the music channel. Right now, I’m needing a little INXS, a bit of vintage U2, maybe some Howard Jones, Thompson Twins, or Duran Duran. What do I get? Crackhead Whitney Houston singing about “The Greatest Love of All.”
Okay, not only do I despise this song, but it is the biggest fricking load of crap. Like all I need right now is a little parenting guilt trip. All I have to do is “teach [Super L] well, and let her lead the way”? Really? To where? Total meltdowns on the kitchen floor? No thanks, I have my meltdowns semi-privately on the phone to my husband, over cocktails with girlfriends, or in the laundry room where they belong thankyouverymuch. “Give [her] a sense of pride to make it easier.” What is this ubiquitous *it* that Whitney sings of? Like if Super L felt she deserved simultaneous servings of juice, milk, juice, and water , it would “make it easier” for her to whine [talk] me into giving it to her? Seriously.
And while I’m at it, I really doubt that learning to love yourself is as “easy to achieve,” as Whit says. Like heck it is. Just so you all know, if Super L grows up and has self-esteem issues (and all girls do in one form or another), it’s going to be my fault because I wouldn’t let her have grapes and apple juice 3 minutes before lunch on July 24, 2008. And because I let her wipe her own head on the floor in the midst of her stubborn, unreasonable tantrum. Yep, this will be the root of it all. It’s all downhill for poor Super L from here. Mark my words.
And for the record, I’m virtually certain that loving yourself is not “The Greatest Love of All.” Puh-leze. As if anything we could feel for ourselves, good or bad, could ever compare to what God feels for us. God has that contest won with no competition whatsoever. Come to think of it, thinking we could love ourselves as much as God loves us is about as narccissitic an expression of self-love as I could imagine.
So, what’s the point? Well, here it is. Being a mommy is fulfilling, and wonderful, and gratifying, yes, yes, yes. But being fed up with your own “darlings” is perfectly normal and fine as well, and anyone who doesn’t think so can suck it. And Whitney Houston can suck it. Twice.
And I’d be a remiss if I didn’t show you this and admit, that yeah, they *are* angels, too.
I didn’t take my brains out and start playing with them, so score one for me today. Then again, it’s still relatively early. At any rate, I gotta go de-stem some dang grapes.